Matchmaking Operation: Opening Your Heart
by Harmony4life
Summary: After the Gryffindor won the Quidditch cup, Ginny kissed Harry, who was utterly confused. Ron was fuming. Dean was jealous. Hermione was nowhere to be found...H/Hr, DT/GW, hints of R/L.
1. jealousy and heartbreak

**Disclaimer: nothing of my own. They're all in JK Rowling's possession. The sole reason for playing is that I just need to see the world in Harmony**

"Where will the future lead us, Harry?" queried she, her voice hollow.

" I don't know...always the mystery that keeps us going on to find out...J-just let things flow naturally, lead your life whatever the way you like, bravely and peacefully..." he said softly, not looking at her, but training his eyes on the horizon.

She stole a glance at him from beneath her long lashes, allowing herself few moments to cherish the feel of him near her, before the knot in her chest tightened yet again.

"I am scared. I like hazy clouds better than the concrete earth..." she trailed off, her voice wobbly.

Unable to finish her chain of thoughts, she looked up at him, wordlessly beseeching him to say anything to assuage her mounting fear, yet greeted only by silence, deafening silence that gave her heart a painful lurch.

_Even he found her irrational psyche tiring, even he's wearied of her…_

The thought crashed over her in waves. She flicked her eyes to the ground, unconsciously rubbing her chest, trying to fight back tears.

"You've changed." She lifted her head at his gentle voice to see he was standing directly in front of her, his gaze unwavering, his stoic figure printed on the glorious halo of amber sun.

"I know," she let out a soft sigh, her eyes drawn to his swirling emerald depths, which fleetingly gleamed with something akin to pain upon hearing her defeated admission.

He briefly knelt down, one hand brushing her cheek, his eyes boring on her face, now churning with deep concern, his voice barely a breeze in her ears. "Why?"

She shook her head, biting her lower lip hard, and one lone tear streaked down her face at the expense of keeping him in the dark. His face immediately scrunched up as if he was enduring physical pain, eliciting an involuntary whimper out of her throat.

"Tell me, Hermione!" He pleaded, and her tears were pouring down unchecked. "Please, I-I want to help."

Neither made an effort to wipe her wet cheeks while his moist eyes were also glistening as he gathered her in his arms, holding her tight, still remained in the awkward position of him on his knees and her sitting on the log wrapping her flail arms around his neck. For one moment that held an eternity, both of them stayed content in the warmth of each other, he inhaling her familiar lily scents and she nuzzling in the crook of his neck, her lips sensing vibrant pulses underneath his warm skin.

He turned to place a gentle kiss on her temple before letting go, both hands gripping her shoulders, forcing her to look straight at him.

"Tell me," repeated he, his voice more assertive, hinting that he wouldn't let it go until he got the answer.

She frowned at him in mock disapproval, grazing lightly at his tousled mop, and heaved a heavy sigh as if dealing with an impudent child. "It's fine, Harry, doesn't really matter." Her voice turned so bubbly that she internally winced at how fake it sounded. "Ah, how did Quidditch practice go?"

To her dismay, he suddenly leapt up to his feet and paced the small clearing, dead leaves crunching beneath his restless gait.

"Harry?" She began tentatively, and he spun around to face her, his mouth opening to reply but her ingrained anxiety now alive in her previously lackluster eyes caught him frozen. He stood gaping at her, his throat tight, his chest heaving rapidly, inexplicable nervousness washing over him when he perceived the lucidity restored to his best friend, from her furrowed brows in contemplation and her nibbling lower lip in disquiet.

"Harry, what's wrong?" She raised her voice, carelessly pushing untamable brown locks out of her face, rendering him so itchy to mimic the action that he gulped audibly, his clammy hands fisting inside his pants pockets.

His weak heart was doing that again—constricting tenderly, relentlessly, poignantly till he felt suffocated and melted at the same time, intoxicating bitterness spreading from his chest to the core of his forlorn soul— morbidly ravenous for her sweet care that she used to lavish on him for so long, so unfailingly that he had taken it for granted. This felt like a chronic heart disease that kept recurring whenever he dared let his eyes linger on her longer than a cursory glance. The indefinable feelings grew from a mild tickling charm, that sent pleasant chills down his spine when she was near, to the Crucio curse in his chest, startling him awake panting heavily, hair matted in sweat and tears, blood-shot eyes staring at his bed canopy in horror, his soul ripped out of his body, twisting in excruciating pain at the reminiscence of the repetitive nightmare—she kept getting slipped out of his grasp and strangled in Voldemort's bony hands, no matter how he tried reaching for her, calling out her name in total despair.

He hastily looked away upon the onset of his heart's misbehavior, his mind trapped in unexpected dense fog. He found himself silently wondering the same thing, _yeah, what the bloody hell is wrong with him?_

Like a ton of bricks, it crashed back to him, the reason he sought her out in the first place. He squashed his own trepidation, determined to confront her for her own good. Somehow, he had a gut feeling that it was his best friend who needed him rather than the other way around as usual, and he would not miss the chance to return her faithful support for the world.

"It's you," he said quietly and heard her suck in a sharp breath, "I am worried about you, Hermione."

"Why should you be? I am fine." Her denial was a half-hearted attempt, yet she stubbornly went on, not quite able to look into his eyes, though his hand gentle on her shoulder was nudging her eyes to meet his. "Really, don't worry about me, Harry! You've got enough on your plate already."

"How can I not?" He sounded plain hurt, channeling his agitation to the strain added to her shoulder, causing her to wince slightly, but he deliberately ignored it, his heart torn further by her brusque dismissal of his sincerity, and thus let everything come out in a splintered rush of emotion. "Hermione, you are my best friend. I think I know you like the back of my hand, yet recently, I haven't been able to even recognize you anymore. You skipped classes three times in a row. You stare off into space more often than you open 'Hogwarts, A History'. You go out here brooding instead of beavering away with homework in the library. You don't eat and sleep right…" he paused to control his rasp breathing, willing himself to keep a steady hold on her widened eyes, filled with shock and pain, and continued hoarsely, "you think I don't notice, Hermione, that you wander aimlessly around this lake deep in thought or that you often sneak down to the common room sobbing in the dark at nights; that you are avoiding Ron and me? And it's killing me not to know the bloody reason why..."

"I'm having a lot in my mind is all." She tried to pull away, her voice barely kept firm, "there is no need to make a big fuss, Harry."

"Deny no more, Hermione, please!" He tightened the squeeze on her shoulder in response to her resistance. His half-commanding, half-pleading tone made her knees go weak. "I won't give up until you let me know what's gotten into you."

Her eyes stinging with tears again, she raised her hand to remove his on her shoulder harshly and took several steps towards the lake edge, leaving him staring blankly at his hand for a prolonged moment, shoulders slumped in utter dejection, memories of the ill-fated night one month earlier afresh in his ailing heart.

* * *

His eyes went round as saucers as Ginny flung her arms around his neck and captured his mouth in a deep, passionate kiss, nearly knocking him flat had he not reflexively clutched her lithe body to keep his balance. He was momentarily stiff under her vigorous assault before kissing her back-amazed at how her succulent lips skillfully steering his-and enjoying the sweet strawberry taste until he suddenly felt her tongue wet on his lips, a prickling sensation shot to the nape of his neck, engendering him to spring back without thinking, faint nagging voices whirling in his head, his heart throbbing unbidden in his chest although she was nowhere in sight.

He blinked at the vexed-looking Ginny, his forehead creasing as his torpid mind gradually registered the meaning of what had just happened, loud cheers and wolf-whistles from his housemates making his head rather hurt.

"What's that for?" he asked bluntly, a touch of annoyance in his voice, focused on not so much the pretty redhead in front of him as his unpredictable heart condition.

Ginny sent him a wounded look, which was apace replaced with a seductive smile plastered on her cherry red lips. She grabbed his hand, a blush quickly forming on her cheeks to match her coppery hair, "d'you even need to ask, Harry?"

Remaining somewhat disturbed by the vestige of the former emotional onslaught, he swept his eyes over the common room distractedly, striving to recollect himself and work out the motive behind Ginny's brashness when he spotted Dean Thomas gaping overtly at the redhead, his face contorted in a blend of a scowl and a grimace. Right away did he know what he was feeling, guilt intensifying in his chest as now clearly identified. He jerked his hand away as if on fire, muttering to himself in a daze, "oh no, this is wrong, this is so wrong!"

"Oy, what the bloody hell do you two think you are doing, eating each others' faces off?" A familiar growl snapped him out of his semi-trance. He looked up to see Lavender trying to pull Ron's arm in vain. In fact, it appeared that his best friend, red in the face with unmistakable anger, was dragging the poor girl along as he marched to where he and Ginny was standing. Another growl was heard, louder this time as Ron was coming nearer every second. "Ginevra Molly Weasley, off to your dorm, now!"

Ginny crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes flashing in challenge, her face in deeper shade of red to rival her brother's. She feigned sugary voice, "and what can you do if I don't, my dear brother?"

"Ginny," warned Ron, towering over his headstrong sister, but the latter didn't even flinch, a smirk slowly appearing on her face, her stony eyes gaining a wicked gleam while the lanky redhead held back a groan, making a show to lean in and play his trump card in a stage whisper, "You don't want your hero to see your bat-bogey hex directed to his best friend, Gin. Be obedient if you want to stay in Harry's good books"

Ginny pushed Ron back, with a force rather astounding for a petite girl, and ground out her submission between her clenched teeth, "fine!"

He watched with Ron as Lavender put one arm around Ginny and crooned soothing words, leading the surly redhead away to the girl's room. His best friend didn't turn around until the two girls slipped out of sight at the top of the stairs, a wide grin stretched on his freckled face. "You owed me one, mate. Next time, watch out for flying red hair!" Ron's face hardened in mock threat, belying the twinkles in his azure eyes, "but if you have real intention to put your gruff hands on my little sis, Harry, it would be an entirely different story, remember?"

He let out a labored breath, feeling like a giant weight lifted off his chest, his face breaking into a grateful smile as Ron patted on his shoulder and said casually, "Hermione's looking for you."

"Hermione?" His brows knitted in genuine confusion, his inside stirring at the mention of her name. "Isn't she in the library now?"

"Nah, she came back just before the party began." Ron shook his head to emphasize his negation and added nonchalantly, but for unreadable expression flashing across his face, "she seemed bloody hyped up, talking about some half-veela…" Ron scratched his head, not particularly explaining his increasing perplexity, "half-prince, I guess…oh bugger I cannot remember…Hermione's dying to tell you all, anyway."

Ron sounded pleased enough with his conclusion, twirling his wand in one hand to redeem any lost confidence. He looked around lazily, "odd, I saw her just minutes ago, wonder where she's gone?"

"Hey! Did anyone drink the firewhiskey?" both he and Ron turned to the direction of the loud question in a heavy brogue striking against the rowdy air and there, indeed, was Seamus Finnigan shaking one stout glass bottle, "it's empty me lads."

Together, he and his ginger friend turned their heads to meet in a knowing gaze before Ron spoke in a low voice, "Harry, mate, I think you should -"

"I'll go look for her, Ron." He gave one curt nod before Ron could finish, and turned on his heel, oblivious to the fond smile on his best friend's face as the redhead murmured, "two idiots."

Meanwhile, he was inching his way through the partying crowd and unceremoniously bumped into no one other than Dean, who glowered at him after initial shock, yet soon looked nonplussed when he grinned broadly in return.

He winked at Dean, jumping at the chance to clear the misunderstanding of his dorm mate. "No worry, mate. Redhead beauty is all yours." He then sprinted off, pushing open the portrait hole without missing a beat and vanishing into the dark corridor.

Within a matter of a few minutes, his fevered feet brought him to the top of the Astronomy tower, where he was abruptly hailed with a strong gale. He automatically took off his glasses to rub the dust off his watering eyes before adjusting them securely on his nose bridge again, and finally let his vision riveted to the silhouette of a slender girl leaning over the banister, her soft feminine curves delineated against the obsidian darkness, her head drooped forward, swaying back and forth, wayward tresses snuck out of her loose buns, brushing the hollow of her neck and-he could imagine from this considerable distance-tipping her collar bones. He simply stood motionlessly for an indefinite span of time, beholding the sight before him in silence, his heart amazingly dutiful beneath his rib cage, only the perpetual warmth rising steadily in fervor and anon he felt his chest burning with unknown desire. Blood rushing southward, he started to take slow, calculating steps towards the girl, who looked dangerously close to pitching over the balcony.

"Hermione." He put one hand on her forearm, and she snapped her head up, the glint in her eyes throwing his heart off-kilter; and he spontaneously clutched his left chest, her name now a shaky whisper from within, "Hermione."

She nodded brightly, covering his hand with hers, dainty fingers caressing his calloused knuckles while he didn't need a mirror to see a sappy smile spreading across his face. The heavenly rush stopped short as she halted without notice, fingernails buried into the swelling of his scar momentarily before she stumbled back, one hand gratefully remaining its grip on the railing.

Squinting at him, she slurred. "Who are you?"

His stomach dropped as strong firewhiskey wafted into his nostrils. Hooking an arm under hers to steady her teetering body, he soothed, "Hermione, you are juiced up. Let's go back!"

"Leave me alone!" She screamed, wrenching out of his grasp, and staggered at the attempt, and he could feel his heart emulating her fall.

"Easy there, Hermione!" He swiftly caught her by the waist, his sotto voice, if possible, softening, as he lifted one hand on impulse to tuck one strand behind her ear but she quickly grabbed it and grazed her lips against his palm, hot breath on his skin driving the rush of blood berserk.

She started fiddling with her hair and in a jiffy, thick curls cascading down her shoulders in slow motion, leaving him totally awe-struck, a bittersweet sigh rasped out of his slightly parted lips. Mischief dancing in her dark orbs, she rose on tiptoes to peck him on the cheek. His still open mouth promptly slipped shut to swallow the lump down his throat.

She cocked her head to the side, scrutinizing him before shaking her head furiously and he felt, rather than saw frizzy curls capering behind her back.

"You are not him," she stated firmly.

_Him? _His heart made a single twitch.

"You mean Ron?" asked he softly even though he thought he knew the answer.

She took no heed of his subtle query but verbalized her own train of thought. "You are sweet and gallant," her eyes suddenly full of tears, she croaked, "but he is a clueless and thoughtless prat. He never ever sees me." She started pounding her left chest, her anguished stutter peeling his gut layer by layer, "h-here, right here, h-h-hurt, h-hurt a lot, h-he doesn't know, h-he c-can never…never k-know."

He hurriedly snatched her hand, pain of his own materialized in hot tears burning his sore eyes. "Enough, Hermione," he coaxed, "I don't know what happened between you two, but I am sure Ron'll understand."

He was rather startled when she started to weep freely, her small hand ineffectually fisting his shirt as he closed his eyes, standing rigid for her to thump his chest feebly.

"Why does it always have to be him?"

Thousands of miniscule needles from out of blue were piercing all over his heart, as if acupuncture were applied in the wrong places, and it went numb with an excessive amount of raw pain.

"Why can't I stop loving him?"

All the needles now seeped into his heart, clashing together and breaking the capillary vessels, pain simply bleeding fast and hard; and his knees would have crumbled under his own weight had it not been for the quivering girl in his arms.

"Hmm, you look just like him." She mumbled, her fingers trailing his lightning-bolt scar whereas heady firewhiskey scents escalated its raid on his senses. She turned pliant in his hold, snaking both arms around his lower back, tugging him closer, her voice low and silky, tickling his blood again. "You also feel like him."

She was roaming his back and snuggling against his heaving chest, where blood coagulation was depressing his entire soul, and not until her moan of pleasure, 'you even smell like him' filtered through his thundering eardrums was he aware that she had been taking snuffs of his front shirt, her warm lips pressed insistently on his left chest, filling his hollow heart with glowing kisses of fire.

He just held her, stroking her bushy hair hesitantly, tenderly, fondly as some treasure that tempts a delicate touch, yet his clutch around her torso was coarse, urgent and desperate as if he could never ever let go. She was always his rock keeping him grounded to harsh reality and even now, inebriated, unconscious, flabby in his embrace, he garnered strength from the warmth and softness of hers to stand firm, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing in the dark- molten emerald swirling with a plethora of emotions- translucent windows into his yearning soul.

His hushed voice was mingled with her even breathing and indistinct humming of night breezes, yet held in it no less certain a statement, "you're in love."

He pulled her closer to him, nestling her in his arms, and remained stationary for a perpetuity, torn between lingering in this snug position and getting back so that she could take the much needed rest.

Eventually, he propped her up against the stone column and sat down beside her, carefully placing her head on his shoulder, intent on waiting until the party was over for fear of prying eyes back at the Gryffindor common room. He banged his head softly against the cold stone, breathing in deeply, allowing ample crisp air to fill his lungs, but for some reason, unable to breathe out as if trying to arrest the ephemeral freshness within his chest. Impulsively, his eyes swerved slightly to the left, and the breath he was holding wheezed out on its own accord so suddenly that he nearly choked, erstwhile grogginess completely evaporating, replaced with tautness in all of his muscles, agony warred with warmth inside his racing heart.

She had shifted on his shoulder, giving him an unrestrained view of her cleavage peeking out under her unfastened collar. After transfixed to the enticing image for a tad too long for his weakening resolve, his eyes fell shut upon receiving sufficient details to rage the erotic part of his mind for many months to come. He hurriedly looked away, releasing her hand unwittingly clasped in his and pressing the other hand hard against the rough ground to brace himself, ignoring the grit pinching on the sensitive skin of his palm.

He deliberately looked out to the star-studded indigo sky and began to count the diamond dots quietly, trying to think of anything but the girl leaning on him. He was not intrinsically a stargazer, nor an avid admirer of natural beauty, yet something in the air tonight added spices to his emotional turmoil, inspiring him in some way and rousing alarm in others. He eased a little, letting nature invade all his faculties and thereby unburden his mind temporarily. It was among rare times that he noticed the striking resemblance between the full moon and professor Trelawney's crystal ball-an opaque pearl sphere suspended in the interlude between heaven and earth, a prophecy written in the heart of the universe's mysteries. He could also make out the tip of other towers spearing up into the cloudless arch, sewn with patches of stars, some luminous and winking at him, the majority, however, dimmed by the radiant moon, spreading out like someone accidentally sprinkled white dust onto an inky potion.

He sighed sedately,_ Moonlit nights are always beautiful._

_And also romantic, _he swallowed loudly, the unbidden thought giving his heart a violent jerk, all efforts to stay away from perilous temptations going up in smoke. His mildly trembling hand on his knee curling in a tight fist, fighting the urge to reach for her hand brushed lightly against his left ribs, he willed his eyes to fasten on the stars once more, but all he could see was her sparkling eyes whenever she smiled. He peered up at the silver globe, and the vision of her profile soaked in the moonlight flooded his senses. Shifting his gaze directly to the railings at eye level only proved to quicken the rate at which jigsaw puzzles of smothered memories of what had transpired earlier fell into place. He was tossed back to the starting point, painfully aware of her presence, the gentle pressure on his shoulder, the warmth emanating from her body pressed to his side, the softness of her hair titillating his neck and her rhythmical breathing correlated with the soft rising and falling of her breast.

Once night chills sailed into the open tower, she shivered and turned fully to him, still sound asleep, draping her arm around his waist, groaning softly into his chest; and he resented the relief flitting through him as he groped that as an excuse to throw caution to the winds, all but succumbed to his carnal cravings. He took a deep gulp of fresh chilly air before enfolding her in both arms, rubbing her back tenderly in hopes of warming her up a little, but he thought she might have felt uncomfortable with her head dangling over her shoulders. Another pathetic excuse to condone his intentions was all needed for him to effortlessly adjust her on his lap, one arm pillowing her, the other casually winding around her stomach, his eyes feasting on her sleeping form with abandon.

The angle was just right for moonbeams to dance over her face, highlighting the artless serenity possessing her facial features with thick curly strands fluttering against her ivory cheeks, relaxed brows vaulting delicate crescents fringed with silken eyelashes, her lips closed tight, pallid against the silvery light yet velvety to the touch, casting a shadow of melancholy on her portrait. He would be delighted to see the exquisite curve of her upper lip smooth in everyday heart-warming smiles or her fuller lower lip protrude out in cute pouts, but he was caught utterly entranced by the intangible secret held between her unconsciously sealed lips, whose peculiar enigmatic beauty also kindled some hidden passion from the deepest, darkest recesses of his heart.

Her lips drew him like magnet. The earlier kiss from Ginny crossing his mind only augmented the burning hunger for the secret taste held in the pale rosebud that was flaunting its lusciousness just a slight dip of the head away, so he did the exact thing to slowly reverse the offensive distance only to halt sharply, wholly petrified, still hovering above her face, heart beating in his throat, when her lips suddenly parted and the softest of a whisper caressed his ears, "Harry"

She showed no sign of waking, though. Eyelids still closed peacefully, her countenance unchanged, she snuggled closer in the crook of his arm, one hand now clinging to his shirt while he patted lightly on her arm, allowing some time for his erratic heartbeat to steady, in rhythm with her breathing, until one certain point, he thought he might have mistaken the rustling of the winds for the call of his name. Thus, he began to loosen up, securing the girl in his arms again, and finally settled for a feather-light kiss on her forehead. He closed his eyes, his lips lingering on her skin, his olfactory senses immersed in the balm of mellow lily fragrance with a hint of sweet, musky sandalwood, heady fire whiskey aroma engendering a pool of warmth in his chest as if he had actually consumed the intoxicating liquid courage. He grudgingly drew back to see her lips easing into a faint smile and he felt he would be gratified to just sit there and watch her sleeping like this forever.

Time, unfortunately, was wont to fast-forward whenever he enjoyed himself, so he should have foreseen it when his visionary forever with her was cut short by a familiar sound unnervingly similar to Mrs. Norris yowling like a banshee upon catching a delinquent in school ground. Under no circumstances did he want to encounter the grumpy Hogwarts caretaker and his obnoxious pet, let alone with her in this drunken state, so he speedily pushed off the stone pillar, scooping her limp body up, and treked down the staircases stealthily while keeping vigilance of the dull lantern led by a slate feline. He took one of the secret passages behind the tapestry and dabbled with an amateur disillusionment incantation, staying alert to arrive at the Gryffindor tower without getting into any trouble, yet it never occurred to him to cast a featherweight charm on her the entire time; the soft feel of her warmth in his arms, he privately took as better a prize than thousand Gryffindor Quidditch cups for his venture that night.

It must have been way past curfew. The empty common room was swathed in soft darkness, interwoven with the sheen of pearl moonlight, garnished with incandescent firelight from the hearth at one corner. Other than floating enchanted balloons and ostentatious scarlet and gold banners draped over the walls, the ordinary warm and cozy atmosphere was returned to the quiet room.

Gently laying her on the couch, he conjured a thick quilt and tucked her in before sitting beside her, indulged himself in his new favorite pastime—watching her sleep. She was deep in perfect repose, wrapped in a glow of autumn foliage color, luxuriant brown curls shining gold in the warm fire, dark long lashes fanning out against her cheeks that were flushing a lovely shade of crimson from firewhiskey, her heavenly scents saturating the enclosed corner. As he already reckoned, sleep never came. For the better half of the night, he was rooted in place, his mind neither blank nor occupied, jumbled thoughts he never came to grasp whirling in the back ground, only a noticeable flurry of emotions tightening around his chest, released in the form of occasional heavy sighs into the silence of the night.

He derived comfort from holding her hand loosely, running his thumb absent-mindedly over the tiny writer's bump on her middle finger, his eyes never leaving her face, yet he soon got agitated; stroking her hair or even stealing a kiss on her cheek failed to quench the blistering flame in the pit of his stomach. His heart was put at rest but he could feel blood trickling discretely from open gashes; his entire being ached to lie down beside her and mould her small frame against him, his lips athirst for her velvety skin and his fidgety hands undulating soft mounds of her breasts, driving him insane. He cursed loudly, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, resolutely blocking off the devastatingly luscious spectacle too close for comfort while having his skewed glasses slide off to his lap. Setting them on the nearby table, he briskly put out the fire before turning back to her, his naked eyes strained in the dark to seek her moonlit face, his cold lips pressed to her soft hand throughout the rest of the night.

Dawn manifested itself with the typical pale tint of blue slivering the murky expanse outside the window, yet he was too distracted to notice until he heard someone pad down the stairs, footsteps distinguishable the way the said person barely bothered to lift their feet when walking. Surreptitiously letting go of her hand, he didn't waste any moment to stand up and grab the table corner with lightning fast reflexes before looking towards the staircases, appearing as if that he had just arrived there to retrieve his forgotten glasses. He was somewhat surprised to see a sluggish Lavender in pink floral pyjama yawning loudly, her corkscrew hair in a total mess. She rubbed her eyes and blinked furiously at him as he instantly took advantage of her lethargy to fabricate a trite explanation, asked Lavender to take his best friend to the Hospital wing in haste, and practically dashed to his dorm's room, never looking back to catch the smug grin on the face of his gossipy housemate, full alertness in her bright eyes.

He waited in bed until everyone had come down to breakfast to start getting prepared for the day, inexplicably apprehensive about seeing her. Against his expectation, she never showed up at the Great Hall that morning and trudged into the dungeon, for the first time without a hefty rucksack on her back, roughly half an hour into the beginning of Slughorn's potion class. She sat in the far back and was later to pair up with Terry Boot in practical session. With due attention could he take heed that she frequently squeezed her eyes shut and massaged her temples, presumably suffering from hangover headaches, but she seemed otherwise fine, even a tad too perky when partnering with the snobbish Ravenclaws.

Little did he know that wasn't the last time she skipped breakfast and came to class late. Needless to say, when he had the chance to voice his concern, she brushed him off with a mechanical reply, and he proved one truly inconsiderate simpleton to buy her lie, horridly relieved that she had no memory of the previous night alongside Gryffindor winning the Quidditch cup…

* * *

He was snapped out of his reverie by a loud sneeze.

"Excuse me!" She sniffed and scrubbed at her nose with the back of her hand.

"Are you sick?" His brows drawing together, he inquired her earnestly and strode towards her once receiving a wordless head-shake, his eyes searching her face intently, "Hermione?"

She half-consciously rubbed her arm held close to her chest. "No, I am fine. It's just-" with a short, convulsive intake of breath, her eyes fluttered closed, her mouth slightly ajar, the pink on her nose smearing across her cheeks, her nostrils flaring visibly as the inevitable sneeze came.

"It's just you've been out in the cold for hours in that flimsy jumper of yours." He supplied matter-of-factly, pulling off his scarf and swiftly wrapped it around her neck. Taking the salient wave of heat permeating his system as an indication of her fever, he instinctively felt her forehead, more or less baffled by the extra coolness of her skin, and withdrew his hand, before any comprehension could take over his mind.

Fingers gliding through his messy ebony hair, he averted his eyes from her keen aloof gaze, his stomach seized with another bout of the familiar wretched jitteriness, a hint of steel nonetheless in his voice. "Whatever problems you've got, you are not fine, Hermione!" He stared deeply into her eyes, brushing her fingertips on purpose, mutely asking for solace from her soft hand, which was then lifted up to worry the scarf on her neck nonchalantly, so he hid his clenched fist in his pocket again and mirrored her by fixing his eyes to the ground, vulnerability underlying his hesitant speech, "but you still have me…and Ron…friends who care deeply for you. Don't...keep it to yourself, Hermione…sharing with others helps you feel better…so talk to me…I am…right here…"

"I told you, Harry, that I was fine." She maintained her argument, silently begging him to drop the subject.

The sheer weariness somehow lent credence to her response, leaving him at a loss for words, whereas her eyes travelled warily from her shoes upwards to fall upon his pained grimace. She inadvertently clasped the scarf tighter, her heart cringing inside her chest, where emptiness was somehow replaced with smoldering grievance, masked by a flash of exasperation at his brotherly overprotectiveness. She opened her mouth, uncertain whether to reassure him further or give him an outright lecture, when another fit of sneeze that she failed to contain rose up her throat, rendering her nose inflamed. A sudden dizziness gripped her; her hand automatically flew up to her forehead as she squeaked, feeling his piercing eyes on her, "allergy, flower pollen thing…I…I'd better go ask Madam Pomfrey for a relief potion, Harry...um…see you!"

She made to leave but his hand clamped on her wrist stopped her from making any further step.

"Harry," she was shaking from both anger and frailty, "let me go!"

One full ten seconds elapsed before he started to speak in a thick voice, never loosening his vice-like grip on her, "I take it that you haven't told him how you feel yet."

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about?" She looked at him, mouth agape, the need to struggle out of his grasp quite forgotten.

Feeling her arms relaxed in his hold, he slid his hand down to give hers a light squeeze, "you should look at yourself, Hermione!" his rhetorical advice was expressed sincerely enough, followed by a more subdued voice, the ghost of a smile hovering his lips as he looked at her sympathetically, "you're acting like a lovesick teenager."

She gasped, snatching her hand out of his, but instead of running, she sank to the ground, feeling as if his honest comment just drained all energy from her, unable to restrain the quaver sweeping through her entire body. She heard herself saying defensively in so strange a high-pitched voice, "Well, I am a teenager—"

"In love," he chimed in coolly, flopping himself next to her on a damp patch of lakeshore lawn.

"You are barking mad, Harry." She rolled her eyes dramatically.

Yet, he knew better than falling for her lame act, his gaze affixed to a tuft of grass crushed mercilessly in her small hand. The wobble in her voice was his cue to plough on, "you should tell him your feelings, Hermione. He might be pining after you himself, you know." He sat with his hands hanging slack between his knees, too mesmerized by the curtain of lush hair falling down her slim shoulder to note his dazed murmur, "who isn't?"

"Jeez, you're a fine one to talk!" Her acrid scoff shook him out of his momentary stupor. He could barely blink before she wheeled around to face him, still wearing the constant vacant look, a hard edge to her voice that incidentally tensed him. "What about you? Do you plan to ever tell Ginny that you are madly in love with her?"

"Urgh…not you, Hermione," he lamented immediately, "I've had my fair share of our nosy housemates already." His scruffy trainer dug into the earth in a huff, hitting a large pebble, which he, on a whim, picked up and tossed into the lake, "why nobody believes that there is nothing whatsoever going on between me and Ginny?"

"Coz it's one hell of a kiss you shared in front of the entire Gryffindor." She deadpanned, her eyes eluding his startled gaze.

She had barely finished when came his redundant question, "you saw?"

"Everything." was all she could manage to utter, her voice oddly strangulated.

He blinked, memories of what had happened before he came looking for her all but a haze in his mind, yet his stomach sunk low at the idea of missing something very important that only his best friend sitting right under his nose could elucidate for him. His heart doing all sorts of bouncing and tripping, he tried to shake off the unexpected hankering for confirming his doubts on her lips and inadvertently vocalized his frustration. "Damn it!" She turned sharply to look at him, unease penetrating her veneer of apathy, catching him almost stunned. He stammered, not fully knowing what he was saying, "How? I mean…why?...I didn't see you, but I could…"

_Sense you, is that even remotely possible?_ He gulped, choking back the lunatic thought that was gnawing at his chaotic mind.

"I was right behind you." She clucked her tongue, shaking her head pitifully.

_Bloody freaking hell! _It became rather obvious to him, and the impetuous fantasy of 'sensing her' in the flesh was now belly dancing in a pink tutu before his mind's eyes.

"No wonder you didn't see me at all, Harry." She gave a humorless chuckle and met his gaze, the half-teasing smile not quite reaching her haunted eyes, "bet everyone was invisible, except the gorgeous girl glued to you at the mouth, huh?"

There were oceans of feelings inside his chest, the crest of sorrow and regret slamming against his heart. He inquired insistently, desperate to hear her confession again, "did it bother you, Hermione, seeing me kiss another girl, did it bother you?"

The only rejoinder he got was the uproarious flapping of wings as the post owls were diving through the gray billows to head for the owlery. He was staring at her profile and she straight ahead, her breasts heaving incessantly, when out came a long, deep, trembling sigh that he knew contained one full month of secret heartache from the very depth of her soul. She shifted from her current cross-legged posture, hugging her knees to her chest, brown ringlets dangling down over her still face, her eyes never moving away from some stale spot on the ground, strands of long eyelashes descending like a demure mimosa frond, yet curled gracefully at the ends like petals of a budding flower.

"Why, Hermione?" He was extremely tempted to unfurl the secret veiled by her bewitching lashes with his lips, but too reluctant to invade the aura of pensive tranquility enveloping her.

She remained perfectly stationary, probably too deep in thought to hear him, and when he was just one breath away from shaking her to get her attention, her lips started to curve slowly. "No, Harry." She continued monotonously, "It can't bother me. It just doesn't make sense. My best friend has found the best girl."

"Then why are you bothered that much, Hermione?"

"I am not!" she shrieked, her voice muffled with the first sign of tears. Pushing herself to her feet, she pronounced with finality. "I am not having this conversation with you, Harry, not now, not ever."

"Who is the guy," he rose and asked to her back anxiously as she was getting further away from him, "whom you fall in love with?"

She put her arms up in the air and screamed, "For the love of Merlin and all our holy magical ancestors!" To his horror, her feet picked up speed as she mumbled something like, "bollocks!"

Before he knew what he was doing, he snatched her shoulder, turning her around crudely, and received her shrill yelp of surprise and a pair of widened brown eyes, which made his heart skip a beat even though he was on the brink of losing all his tempers. He was fully mindful of crushing her waist, yet he couldn't help the bursting dam of hurt in his chest, not in the least contrite for growling his warning. "Don't you dare lie to my face, Hermione!" He commanded. "Tell me, who is the one?"

"There is no one. Take your hands off of me!" She threw him a deathly glower, wriggling furiously out of his arms, her lips quivering, "you're hurting me, Harry!"

His tantrum deflated like an untied balloon. He cupped her cheek with one palm, his face mere inches from hers, his abject plea dripped with the tenderness he didn't know he possessed. "Hermione, please! I want to…need to know who is affecting you so much you can't concentrate on schoolwork. Who has turned you into this emotional wreck?" His arms now wrapping fully around her waist, he pulled her closer, his voice sinking into a whisper, "Please tell me, who kills the light in your sparkling eyes; who wilts the smiles on your lips?"

She neither leaned in nor fought against his touch, and simply returned his unrelenting gaze, her eyes laid bare for him to see crystal tears welling up in her brown orbs, where all secrets were revealed in swirling tides of warm affection. Her hands slipped up his chest initially to push him away, but went stiff before starting to fondle his tight pectoral muscles much like the night she was drunk, while he stopped breathing altogether, slowly bringing his face down to what he could only see as a rosy blossom enticing him to taste its fragrance, giving her all the time to protest. And so she did, whipping her head away, dashing madly at the tears streaking down her face, as he exhaled out loud in utmost disappointment.

"Trust me, Harry," she finally gave him a tremulous answer, "you don't want to know."

It took a moment for him to cotton on what she meant. Inwardly cursing his hesitancy that further complicated matters, he cradled her chins gently, coercing her eyes in direct line of his intense gaze, and spontaneously attempted at dry humor, one acute question, however, burning on his lips. "I do, tell me so I can beat him to a bloody pulp for hurting you."

The corners of her lips tugged imperceptibly into a hint of a smile. His heart lifted at the amusement glistening in her eyes. There was an undercurrent of tenacity in her soft voice. "I am afraid I can't, Harry. It's all for the best."

"No, it's not!" he reacted at once but soon softened, "Hermione, it's not! You don't understand…" Catching the bewilderment written all over her face, he realized that he had gone too far to back away, the image of her lonesome figure ensnared within the arms of darkness on top of Astronomy tower making his heart twist brutally in his left chest. The bitter question burst out of his lips as if it had been ambushing in his throat to launch its attack all along. "Why didn't you ever let me know, Hermione, that I was a despicable clueless and thoughtless prat, that I was hurting you this bad without even knowing it?" Her solitary cry gave him the certainty to come clean, not a shadow of accusation but only a sweet mixture of sorrow and endearment in his guttural voice. "You could have saved both of us all foolish miseries. You could have saved me years of hopelessly pining after you."

Color drained from her face, she was mouthing some interjection he couldn't quite make out, her teary eyes combing his face like a hawk and halting to lock in the vehement sincerity of his gaze, and within a heartbeat, she buried her face in her hands and started to weep. He wordlessly took her in his arms, where she sagged against his chest, her body wracking with smothered sobs. He squeezed her lightly, alternating between rubbing her back and stroking her hair, but ended up resting his lips on the top of her head and gleaning a rush of her delightful scents. Thus, he waited in perfect contentment, until she had quieted down, to tilt his head backwards, carefully prying her fingers off her face and naturally intertwining them in his hands. She peeked up at him from between the drape of her tumbling hair, which he swept aside to unveil her tearstained cheeks reddening at his affectionate gesture. He watched with rapt admiration as her tongue unconsciously ran over the slight dent in the middle of her bottom lip, making it shine with moisture.

"You're so beautiful!" He breathed, unaware that he was thinking out loud, which gifted him a timid smile gracing her lips, teardrops glittering on her eyelashes, red-rimmed eyes beaming with the brilliance of her mind and the warmth of her heart. She was the epitome of all-round beauty that he felt an intense longing to cherish for all his life.

"It's all for the best, Hermione," he echoed her words with glee, a goofy grin broadening on his face, "coz the thoughtless and clueless prat you are in love with just happens to fall head over heels for you."

Her smile got brighter, her face positively aglow with ecstasy, but the passion alight in her eyes was, more powerfully than anything else, demonstrative of her love for him. His lips found hers with great ease and suavity rather foreign to a callow young boy of almost no experience with girls, while she welcomed him modestly, her tantalizing reluctance gradually boiling his desire. He nudged her as softly and leisurely as his rapidly evaporating forbearance could handle. She started to yield, her warm lips pressing firmly against his, when he felt it, so instantaneous that he, despite having already anticipated its mind-numbing effects, was thoroughly staggered by the the rush of electricity to the back of his neck, allowing no room for rational thoughts. He found himself unable to decide whether he had been whisked away to a sandalwood forest, where downy autumn freshness blended with tangy fragrances, or a regal garden full of lilies that tasted sweet and sensual on his lips.

He deepened the kiss, overwhelmed with a potent lecherous instinct that guided him to mesh his lips with hers, both hands interlocking behind her back to keep her body ground against him, while she reciprocated with no less fervor, her arms slithering around his neck, where tingles worked in tandem with heat. Warmth suffused his entire being and accumulated in his heart, which was chorusing a serenade with its other half. Shining underneath his hysterical bliss were a gemstone of victory, glorious feelings of one who found the key to every Riddle, and a torrent of peace, the peace standing invincible in the thick of the most violent storm, the peace of melding with truth and right amidst injustice and evil.

He was flying with milky cloud as wings to his broomstick; he was soaring up to heaven; he was on top of both Wizarding and Muggle worlds; and above all, he was with her wherever he wandered, their bodies fitted together in an eternal embrace, their mind interlinked with one unwavering conviction, their heart and soul tied in one true love.

He was at the height of reveling in their kiss, never even dreaming of separating from her divine lips, when she began to resist, her hand pushing gently on his chest. He could feel her shaking her head, her lips brushing his back and forth, so he entwined one leg round hers to keep her still in place so that his tongue could persevere in caressing her elusive one. She mumbled her objection on their fused lips while he merely tightened his arms around her waist until he felt her breath getting caught as if she was being choked, her breast convulsing against his chest, striking him with a flood of concern. No sooner had he broken the kiss—both of them still joined from upper chests downward-did she give an explosive sneeze, causing her head to collide with his forehead. He instinctively rubbed at the source of pain, hissing under his breath, wary of mortifying her in already considerably humiliating a situation.

She brought her palms to her face in panic, her voice heavily stifled, indicating her stuffy nose and perhaps a sore throat. "Merlin, Harry! I tried to tell you. I am so sorry." She bestowed her feather-light touches on the afflicted spot as he noticed the pink tip of her nose matching with a faint red blotch just below her hairline. Her soft eyes focusing on his forehead before meeting his, she murmured her tender care. "Are you okay?"

His heart was still as restless as ever, vibrating resonantly in tremors of fondness and gratitude, all of him aching for her whole. He told her what was seemingly beyond his head. "No, I am not. There is this ever-present bittersweet ache all over…" He fell silent, his brain largely muddled by her extreme nearness, but he could tell that he hungered for more of her sublime lips, which he knew with certainty would do wonders for his sore bump on his forehead.

"What is that cliché again? Hmm…" He was racking his brain for what he recalled seeing in Muggle movies that befitted this circumstance, and when it hit him, he said huskily in hope of her granting his wish, unconscious of giving her what could only be called a lascivious look. "Care to kiss away my pain, Hermione?"

He was hoping for the soothing warmth and tingling on his forehead, but she obviously had a much better idea. She jumped into his arms, her legs fastened around his waist, both hands cupping his face, her thumbs smoothing over his cheekbones. With a caustic shimmer in her eyes, she crushed her supple lips against his open mouth, her tongue, wet and hot, devouring his fiercely, her hands now threading into his messy hair as he looped his arms around her waist, absorbing everything of her into his soul. They barely parted just to feel each other's breaths warm on their mouth before their lips met again in more torrid kisses.

tbc.


	2. well-intentioned stalkers

(a/n: I hope this chap suffices to explain the backstage plan, also my first pathetic attempt at the slightest humor. thanks for reading!)

Meanwhile, ten meters away from the oblivious lovebirds, behind the lofty beech tree by the lake edge…

"Close your gaping mouth, Ronald!" came a blithe feminine voice synchronized with the humdrum chanting from the golden canopy above. "Moon Frogs can jump down your throat and block your windpipe."

Ronald, the addressed person, managed to hold in the snigger pressing to escape his lips, and gave way to the more urgent expletive, "bloody hell!" He was goggling at the intertwined couple with his mouth still wide open, his light voice filled with wonder, "who knows Hermione has it in her. She bloody jumped Ha-"

"Ouch!" Ronald screamed midsentence when he felt something stomp on his foot, hard. The image of a knot of slimy bulging-eyed frogs bringing nausea to his mouth, he looked down at the ground and slowly let out a breath, which shortly got hitched in his chest when his eyes inadvertently darted from the ground back up to meet with a pair of protuberant silver-grey orbs not unlike the magical stones in the gobstones game he had often played with his twin brothers. Though he had to admit those lambent eyeballs were more tolerable than some hideous imaginary creature of unknown destructive powers, the fact that Luna Lovegood was precisely one snog away scared the living daylights out of him.

"You just stepped on my foot, Loo-Luna!" He shot daggers at the culprit, trying to cover the flush of heat to his face.

"Moon Frogs, I forgot to mention they normally pop at your feet before attacking." Luna said with aplomb. She reached up to clutch Ronald's chin, swinging his head from side to side, "but it is no longer of significance, because your mouth is properly closed now."

Looking at Luna as if she'd grown two heads, Ronald stepped back and screeched. "You are mental."

"Be quiet, Ron!" There was a grating voice, louder than his and Luna's combined, dinning into his ears. "You don't want them to hear us."

Ronald snapped his head around, preparing to rebut the insolent speaker; his eyes almost popped out of their sockets, upper lip arching and lower lip dropping, his mouth forming a perfect round O but slamming shut in another woeful howl. "Ouch!"

"Luna!" He glared at the eccentric blonde, secretly curling his sore toes in his shoe, red tingeing his freckled face. "I swear I'm gonna…gonna…" he trailed away, unable to come up with a suited punishment for the disturbing Ravenclaws.

"What did I say, Ronald? You are gaping like a fish out of water." Luna stayed unruffled, her dreamy eyes carrying a hint of something similar to teasing smiles for a split-second before turning back to normal. She kept talking breezily as if inquired of her ludicrous imagination. "Moon Frogs are particularly rife in amorous atmospheres."

Suddenly feeling pity for the girl, Ronald just shook his head and returned to the unresolved problems, instantly incensed by the scene in front of him. He tried to hurtle forward but had to resort to sputtering, stuck where he stood for Luna's hands on his arm. "G-Ginny Weasley, you…you…! Dean you bloody git, take your grotty tongue out of my sister's mouth this instant!"

Ignoring her brother's warning without shame, Ginny plundered her tongue deeper into Dean's mouth, moaning with pleasure against his lips, yet the latter appeared fairly intimidated and kept tugging at her waist, making it irritably hard to concentrate. Thus, she ceased her erotic roaming, pillared herself on Dean's shoulders and scowled at the red-faced Ronald. "Sod off, Ron! It's months we've been dating for Merlin's sake!" She jerked her head to the direction of the passionate lovers. "Those two are snogging senseless, Ron. I helped your best friends get together. Don't you think I deserve a good snog with my boyfriend too?"

Face flushed scarlet with anger, both hands on her hips, Ginny had detached completely from her boyfriend, who was trying to mollify her by snaking his arms around her waist and rubbing her back. Dean trailed kisses along the curve of her jaw, and once Ginny felt his teeth grazing her throat, she bent her neck backwards to give him more access, too horny to remember some petty argument with her brother.

Ronald was gawking at his sister making out with his dorm mate, one shaking finger pointed at the pair, unable to pick up his feet, when he felt a light squeeze on his arm.

"You should give them some privacy, Ronald!"

Luna's voice was still silvery and void of emotion, but the sober look on her face swayed Ronald. He nodded slightly and let her lead him back to facing the lake, putting a certain distance away from Dean and Ginny. His eyes fell upon his two best friends locked tight in a seemingly endless cuddle, drawing a soft sigh from deep in his chest, where mixed warmth with a trace of somberness.

"She's got it bad, hasn't she?" Ronald gazed unseeingly at the romance display in front of him and mused aloud, images of the boisterous celebration party in the common room gradually overlaying the sunset-coated lake in his vision. "She turned white as a sheet I thought she was gonna faint, and when I offered the firewhiskey, she all but yanked the bottle out of my hand and downed it in one gulp." He shook his head slightly, remnant disbelief reawakened in his visage, "Blimey! If I didn't know better, I would have thought she was an alcohol addict…then she fled faster than she would from You-Know-Who, I daresay." He inserted another sigh before lowering his voice, "can only imagine how she felt. It's a bit cruel of a measure, really…" he faltered, glancing at Luna to see she was looking straight at him, not a single residue of the trademark languor in her expression, the glimmer of erudition in her vivid eyes eerily reminding him of Hermione yet capable of checkmating him without argument. He swallowed, "…er…but necessary, I guess."

It was the first time Ronald allowed himself to reciprocate Luna's freakish uninhibited stare and he noticed that her unsmiling face seemed to give the impression of a cryptic smile, which brought an uninvited fluttering in his heart. She suddenly looked away without a word, and Ronald couldn't help taking mild offense to being blatantly ignored. There was something about the girl that bade him keep talking. He cleared his throat, reverting to the subject uppermost in his mind.

"How could you be so sure, Luna? I mean, you are right and things happened exactly the way we wanted, but it still boggles me. I know Hermione went to the Astronomy Tower from the Marauder's map, but Harry, how do you suppose he found her?"

"Because that's what Harry does," Luna was wearing a fond smile as she looked dreamily out towards the lake, not an inkling of dubiety in her calm voice, "following his gut instinct to find Hermione, keep her comforted and safe..." Ronald wanted to argue that he had a strong compulsion to protect Hermione too, but Luna carried on with the same plain-spoken tone, "because love always finds a way."

Ronald was rendered briefly inarticulate, his brows knitted together in deep thought. He had expected, perhaps, some sort of tracking spell Luna or Ginny used on Hermione without his knowing, but he was met with one momentous notion that he didn't quite apprehend. His gaze drifted from Luna to his best friends wrapped in each other's arms and back to the quirky girl with a perfectly tranquil demeanor, and something in his mind clicked. He let out a breathless whisper, "wow!" He perked up and began to speak with enthusiasm, "I see...but hey, Luna, it strikes me that you already knew Harry's feelings and we're all dead sure about Hermione." In the heat of moment, he edged towards Luna, feeling unaccountable eagerness to hear her out. "Why didn't we just tell him that she was insanely jealous that night…or we could have dropped hints as to why Hermione has been moping…Mr Oblivious sodding harassed me, you know. It's not fun, Luna, but both you and Ginny constantly had me zip my lip!"

It didn't escape Ronald that he sounded more petulant than he actually felt, yet he would never admit to himself that he couldn't help it, possibly with the purpose of provoking any kind of feedback other than her irksome composure. Much to his disappointment, Luna didn't even spare a look at him. She tilted her head heavenwards as his eyes followed the direction of her gaze; all he could see was a mundane jungle of variegated tawny and red with patches of cerulean, by which Luna was apparently fascinated, her face lighting up with a smile like sunshine as Ronald enjoyed a delightful side view of the contours of her slender neck. All of a sudden, she threw her arms in the air and twirled nonstop in circles while he continued to gawk at her with unblinking eyes, uninterfered with by Moon Frogs or any imaginary creature for that matter. Luna stopped at last, a bit out of breath, a healthy glow blooming on her cheeks and Ronald remained dumbfounded, open-mouthed when she laughed a fruity, clear laugh like a chime of silver bells, sparkles in her big round eyes.

"Sexual tension." Luna inclined her head in what Ronald deemed a graceful curtsey that Muggle ladies often made when accepting the offer to dance, and winked at him.

He was leering at her pink lips, his ears tipping red when he noticed they were moving. He piped up for the mere sake of keeping a polite conversation. "Er…I beg your pardon?"

"Unsatisfied sexual tension, Ronald." Luna said slowly, putting an emphasis on each word, her voice an octave higher as if afraid he couldn't hear her, pure sobriety reinstated in her look.

Ronald could feel his face flame as Ginny's giggles reached his ears, beads of sweat forming on his forehead although he was garbed in full Gryffindor robe. Backing up one large step, he snarled, camouflaging humiliation with indignation. "What the bloody hell do you mean?"

Luna appeared to be thoroughly impassive as she replied him in her normally soft voice, yet it felt like thunderclap in his ears, "Say, Ronald, suppose you fancied shoving your tongue down my throat, would you actually do it if you had a chance now?"

"What?" Ronald gave a single squeal.

Ginny's roar of laughter was followed by her singsong voice. "You heard her, Ron."

Notwithstanding, Ronald was cognizant of nothing but the saucy blonde girl in front of him, her silver eyes two impenetrable wells of self-possession, which he was uncertain how he could read very acutely then.

"Would you, Ronald," Luna said bluntly, "in view of the circumstances?"

"W-what's the point, Luna, seeing that I-I um I…d-don't…well…not really, but I…" Ronald made an attempt to retort but was soon tongue-tied, feeling like a fever were taking over him under the quizzical scrutiny of Luna Lovegood; once her lips started to curl up in the promise of a smirk, he held up his hands in a defensive manner and shook them, along with his head. "No, no, no… I am not going to snog you!"

"Of course you aren't." He was taken aback when Luna nodded, ostensibly pleased with his less than coherent answer. She smiled friendly at him for the first time before questioning him further. "Do you know why?"

Ronald shook his head uncertainly, looking like he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Quite contrary to his fear, Luna's smile broadened as in an encouraging expression, and softened when aimed at the impassioned couple. She observed in a serene yet heart-warming voice as if narrating a beautiful tale.

"Same with Harry and Hermione. Both of them were staying in denial for too long, Ronald, because there were internal forces that stopped them from acting upon their true feelings. All we can do is to create opportunities, yet they need to figure out for themselves and work together to overcome those forces. Only then will the sexual tension be resolved, when they are fully aware of the mutuality of their love, when they are ready to seriously commit." Luna stopped, presumably for her words to sink in, before droning on while Ronald could barely fathom her ambiguous words, but for noticing that she was using the short form of his name. "Love requires sacrifice, breaking out of your comfort zone and swallowing your pride to actually profess your feelings to your loved one. There is a fierce inner battle that needs a certain amount of time and effort to be settled, depending on the nature of each relationship. There is no way to speed up that time, Ron. You just have to wait and see, while looking deeply inside your soul for the answer on your own. That's how love works; a long, bumpy road, but well worthwhile in the end."

Luna turned to smile at Ronald, while he took it as a sign that she eventually finished her long-winded speech, which left him with a substantially gloomy vista of his future love life. He rubbed the back of his neck and heaved an onerous sigh, feeling the beginning of a mild headache.

"Don't be such a wimp, Ron!" peppered Luna with an amiable chortle, "it's not as far-fetched an ideal as you fear." She took a glimpse of his best friends and clarified in an airy voice, "look at Harry and Hermione! Those meant to be together will find each other at the end, no matter what happens. Someday, you, too, will find the love of your life when the time comes." She gave a small shrug as if she had pronounced an established fact like spring succeeding winter, yet her subsequent advice connoted such gravity that gave Ronald goose bumps. "In the meantime, Ron, just live your life with an open heart."

"Merlin's pants!" exclaimed Ginny in high-flown astonishment as she were walking arm in arm with her boyfriend to join Ronald and Luna adjacent to the beech tree, "I didn't know you are such a romance expert, Luna dear."

"In that case, Ginny, I am glad you are enlightened now," responded Luna with poise and genteelness; she leaned forward to flash Dean a smile that Ronald decided was too intimate for his liking. "Thank you very much indeed, Dean, for understanding! Ginny's help was instrumental in our action plan."

"Oh, it's no trouble at all. My Deanie always understands." With a flick of her wrist, Ginny dismissed Luna's appreciation glibly, her eyes, nevertheless, brimming with complacency. She chirruped, also obliged to pay some tribute to her friend, "and Luna dear, thanks to you, the brilliant mastermind, Harry and Hermione get together at long last."

"Well, considering we have been close friends of Harry for quite some time," quipped Luna in her characteristic light-hearted tone, "I am certain his sheer dumb luck might as well have rubbed off on us."

Everyone all burst out laughing merrily, except for Luna, who was regaled with the gradual change of the blue vault into a light amethyst hue, and Ronald, who was too busy watching her to entertain himself with her jest.

"They are so romantic, aren't they, sweetheart?" Ginny said with a wistful sigh.

Dean proceeded to hug his girlfriend from behind, resting his chin on her svelte shoulder, and whispered into her ear, "True, but I think we are hotter, my love."

"Aw… You're just saying that, Dean!" Ginny mock pouted at Dean, a bright smile on her face, her head angled back to meet his lips as he lowered his head just right to smooch her square on the mouth.

Ronald looked upon the lovey-dovey scene in pure disgust, the combination of hot-headedness and a strong sense of protectiveness towards his litter sister getting the better of him. He was on the verge of punching Dean in the face when he felt a cool soft hand slip into his, jolting him out of his belligerent mindset.

He voiced what came first to mind. "Eh Luna, what are you doing?"

"I am holding your hand, Ron," answered Luna promptly, her palm giving his a little rub, "since I assume this is what we both want at the moment."

Distressed by the fact that the validity of her candid remark overrode his preconception that Luna was incapable of sensible talk, Ronald protested weakly, wresting his clammy hand out of hers, not even risking a glance at her. "I…I don't think so."

Sweat was blown away with light breezes, leaving the chills in his lone hand. From the corner of his eyes, Ronald saw Luna keep her eyes on him shortly before walking away.

"Wait, hold on," he blurted out, "Luna!"

"Ronald," she turned around and started to speak before he could perceive the reason he had held her back, her unemotional voice inscrutably accelerating his heart. "Despite what Hermione said, I think you are actually rather quick on the uptake."

Calmly, Luna turned her back to Ronald and ambled on, while he felt a sudden whim to pin her to the ground and extract the meaning behind all those ruddy obscure comments of hers from her appealing lips. His feet acted faster than his mind and before he knew it, Ronald fell into steps beside Luna. Any senses of direction he had disappearing in an attack of nerves, even if Luna was leading him to the acromantulas' nest, Ronald would still have followed her like a machine, patently staring at her, his hands sweating against cool air, freckles standing out in contrast to his pale complexion across the bridge of his nose. He knew that Luna was aware of his presence from his roaring heartbeats only, but she never acknowledged him once, continuing to hum the derisive song-Weasley is Our King - invented by the vile Slytherins.

Luna's complete lack of reaction to the third time Ronald cleared his throat started to aggravate him. He stretched his right arm to stop her mid-walk, somehow getting a handful of her sleek hair, resulting in her soft cry of pain and his stammering apology. Ronald half waited for the remonstrance Ginny or Hermione would have given him in a similar situation, but Luna simply looked up at him with her large limpid eyes, diffused with glitters of saffron sunset. Discerning a single dead leaf braided in her blonde strands, he lifted his hand and gently removed it, his fingers sliding down the length of her lustrous hair.

"Um… a leaf's got stuck in your hair," prompted Ronald unnecessarily with a nervous grin, "I just…wanted to help you take it out"

Luna inched closer, so subtly that her long cascade was static, her voice a temperate keynote amid the choir of excited shrieks, most likely, from his sister and her boyfriend. "It's quite alright, Ron. I love it when a creorubamor forgets a red leaf in my hair"

"Creoru-bamor?"Ronald quirked an eyebrow, his grin bordering on a roguish one.

"Miniature, yellow fur, quite elusive, but often making appearances around mid to late fall," Luna was fluent as if she was reading directly from a credited book on her newest imaginary creature, but she then lapsed into a fleeting silence before speaking softly, "they adore red."

"I see." Ronald breathed a whisper, lost in the drastic purity of her silver eyes. In a poor effort to get a grip, he waved his hand indifferently towards the murky dunes, which were quickly consuming the blue arch above, and tried to sound as casual as possible. "Nice, clear sky, eh?"

"Indeed!" Luna concurred readily, her keen eyes drilling into his.

"Say, Luna, why don't we take a stroll around the lake while—"

"That would be very nice." Luna interrupted his suggestion with dignity.

"Great! Great!" Ronald smiled broadly at Luna, holding out his hand to her, "so …shall we?"

She put her hand securely into his, a dazzling smile on her normally emotionless face. Together, they sauntered to the other end of the lake, beaming faces turned towards each other, impervious to the sullen look of a certain redhead.

"I can't believe it! I swear he was going to kiss her, and now what? They are…" Ginny gestured towards Ron and Luna, trying to find a romance-oriented word without success, so she settled for the trivial fact, "only walking for Merlin's sake!"

"Hand in hand," reassured Dean cautiously, "it's a good sign. Don't worry much, love. I am sure Ron'll make his move."

"He'd better do it soon." Narrowing her eyes, Ginny said tightly. "You cannot find a more perceptive girl than Luna, sweetheart, but my brother is seriously a hopeless case, even worse than the Boy-Who-Lived."

"You are such a pessimist, Ginny!" There was shuffling of feet before Parvati Patil came out from behind a nearby bush with Lavender Brown in tow. The former flipped her jet black hair over her shoulder pompously out of habit and addressed her fifth-year dorm mate. "Don't you think that Ron just made an excuse to take Luna away and snog her?"

Ginny stared incredulously at the interlopers. "How long have you two been hiding in there?"

"Long enough to see our hero claim his know-it-all lady, when she chose the perfect time to give a legendary sneeze." Parvati answered dryly and laid her hand on her left chest, letting out a dramatic whine, "Oh thy broken heart!"

Dean and Ginny shared an eye-rolling, while Lavender dabbed at her eyes with her heavily-scented vintage handkerchief and sniffled theatrically. "I am so proud. Our house has officially broken the record of having the cheesiest couples in Hogwarts."

"Along with the 'gossip magnet' title," supplemented Parvati smugly.

"Not quite!" Ginny nipped the potential brag party in the bud and glanced back at her brother and best friend, who were getting further away. She sighed dispiritedly. "We need another scheme, girls."

Parvati nodded her consent, and added gravely. "But Ron and Luna can't participate this time."

"We have Harry and Hermione instead, right?" Lavender raised her voice hopefully.

"Exactly, and Hermione has brilliant…" Dean looked thrilled, but soon stumbled over his words at his girlfriend's incisive look. "…ideas. Yeah, she can research, you know, helpful spells and stuffs."

"You are brilliant yourself, sweetheart!" Ginny beamed at her boyfriend, rising to kiss him on the cheek, and turned back to her friends, all businesslike again. "True, Hermione can be a very strong ally. I am going to let her in on our plan at dinner tonight. I am not sure about Harry, though. He is far too close to my half-witted brother. Anyway-"

"Still meeting in the room of requirement tonight, at the same time?"

"No, Lavender, and stop jumping in my mouth," Ginny sounded a little annoyed, "Luna and my brother are not involved this time. We can just stay in our dorm and use a silencing charm."

"Ginny love, what about—"

Ginny cut off her boyfriend midsentence smoothly. "Actually, sweetheart, you are designated a very important role, which is to distract Harry and my brother for us to discuss in peace, then I'll fill you in later. Okay?" Upon Dean's obedient nod, she clapped her hands together and said contently, "Good! Everything's all set?"

"I guess…" Lavender replied absently, but soon looked up from fixing the purple flower brooch on her cardigan, and snapped her fingers, looking as if she were bursting with excitement. "I got it, Belles of Gryffindor! Listen, I am gonna collect all my issues of Witch Weekly. They have superb wizarding-world-class dating advice columns. How's that?"

"One great idea you have there, Lav!" spoke Parvati, putting one hand to her mouth to cover a loud yawn.

"That's definitely a start!" Ginny clicked her tongue appreciatively, "Thank you, Lavender! We'll have loads to browse through tonight."

"True! And we can only work efficiently on a full stomach. I am starving." Parvati complained and pointed to the sky. "Besides, looks like it's going to rain. We should get back to the castle."

"Yeah, you girls get off first" agreed Ginny noncommittally, wagging her brows suggestively at her boyfriend, "I want a bit more of quality time with my Deanie."

"Sure, let's go, Lav!" Parvati sounded downright bored. It's not day one she'd heard Ginny gush about her flourishing relationship with Dean.

"I'll see you tonight, Ginny!" Lavender said cheerily, "bye, Dean!"

Both were apparently too engaged in a fiery kiss-how it had started in the first place, Lavender couldn't recall-to return her farewell, so she shrugged her shoulders and turned to follow her friends….

* * *

The sun had sunk beneath the Western horizon; the sky was bleeding a resplendent melted bronze, which dyed the rippling lake surface the same shade of dusk and the entire lakeshore area a unique flavor that was both depressing and soothing. On the undulatory canvas was painted the reflections of a snuggling couple—the willowy girl with a mound of thick hair growing to the small of her back, where rested her lover's hands possessively, slung her arms around his neck-their nose almost touching. She then swooped her head down, erasing any miniscule gap between them, two reflections becoming one quaint solid amorphous image, only his back and her hair outlined on the water surface.

She laughed softly in his chest and tilted her head back to face him, the ends of her locks brushing pleasantly against his arms around her waist. Gaiety still dwelling in her eyes, she asserted her speculation with a slight castigatory undertone. "Then you know we've been having audience all along, Harry!"

Once his poker face started to contort with insuppressible laugh, he hid it in the mass of her thick brown curls, his shoulder vibrating with peals of laughter that were yet bubbling up from his throat, while she quickly wrapped her arms around his back for anchor to sustain his weight, giving in to the overwhelming urge to laugh of her own. He finally laughed out loud and freely, his rumbling laughter rich and warm like the roaring fire in the Gryffindor common room, his cuddle cozier than the fluffiest bed and more real than any of the subjective senses of being well-equipped that books often provided her.

When their laughter subsided, she tapped on his back and chided him playfully, "it's not funny, Harry!"

"What an irony, Hermione!" He lifted his head and smirked at her.

Going beetroot, she pulled herself out of his arms but he grabbed her hand and swept her back into his embrace, stroking her hair in a placating manner. The petulance in her tear-rimmed eyes spurred him to kiss her forehead in accompaniment of a vocal apology. "I am sorry, okay?" He went on softly, justifying himself to her. "In fact, Hermione, Ron practically begged to tag along, but he ran off at the last minute, saying he had something urgent to attend to. How in Merlin's Hades could this spying thing happen, I honestly didn't have the foggiest idea. Trust me now?"

"Tell you what, Potter, people can watch for all I care." She bit back a smile, adamant to ignore the knee-weakening lop-sided grin of his and mock at him, her voice unintentionally getting sultry, "you are one little cutie pie that I munch with lips, tongue and teeth. That's all what matters."

"I will have you change your mind, Hermione," pronounced he roughly, his emerald eyes glowing at the center of his wounded expression, "I am no longer the innocent little boy you first met on the Hogwarts Express."

Although awash with remorse, she made up her mind to push ahead with the scorn, her curiosity piqued by his daring attitude. "Try me!"

He grabbed her by the waist, lifting her off the ground and setting her to his right as if pushing aside his unfinished homework to play a game of chess with Ron, and wandered off without so much as a disdainful grunt. "You're standing in my way, Granger!"

She was genuinely caught by surprise but appeared, by all accounts, grossly affronted, her brows drawing together into a heavy scowl, deepened by her pursed lips and scintillating eyes. She called him back at the top of her voice, preparing to pin his ears back, but he simply evanesced like a sweet dream giving way to consciousness with one fluttering of eyelashes. Things occurred so fast that she couldn't process the radical turning of events; the first insidious thought of a cruel travesty of fate wormed its way into her mind, pricking into the wounds not yet healed in her soul. Sadness crept up on her, much unexpectedly like how the dunes of grey clouds bare its claw on the azure dome, turning sunshine into a vicious thunderstorm of pain in her heart.

The first drop of rain on her bare skin pulled her out of the grave of self-doubt as easily as she let herself buried in the crumbles of her whimsical fantasy. She should have been expelled by having thrown away all life ideals and her most authentic, most sacred feelings to fall in the trap of depression, all for nothing. He proved to be, more than she could ever ask for, truly compassionate and loving to such a dreadfully self-absorbed girl she had become. Vowing to never repeat the mistake, she cast an impervius charm to repel the drizzling and stood calmly at the water's edge, waiting for him, her frizzy hair sent flying in all directions by the wind.

"I got you, Hermione." She heard his triumphant voice before she could feel her arms twisted behind her back somewhat forcefully.

She automatically closed her eyes, treasuring the uttermost reality of his wet skin. Both hands still tying her arms, he pivoted her around, his grin fading when he could read the trembling relief etched in her countenance. He immediately freed her arms and cradled her face in his palms to soothe the only girl who could ride his heart. "Hermione love, you should know by now that I am not going anywhere."

He was soaked to the skin, his tousled hair damp and, for once, looking tamed, his bangs matted to his forehead, from where water dripped down to his nose, his open lips and the slight dimple on his chin, pearls of rain hanging upon his pale cheeks. Seeing him drenched in this proximity put her imagination into overdrive. She took off his Gryffindor scarf and draped it around his neck, pulling his head down closer until he came just within reach for her to tackle his mouth.

He conformed to her wordless command with a singing heart, his half-lidded eyes zooming in on the blest smirk on her lips, her muttering like music to his ears. In the back of his mind, he thought she was casting the rain repellent charm so that they would both enjoy a fervid kiss free of chilly water biting their skin. Yet, just before their lips could touch, his legs felt like it suddenly turned into gelatin without warning, wobbling uncontrollably and buckling under his weight. He slipped off her grasp and collapsed to the ground with no sensation of his legs as if they were nonexistent. The answer came before he could gather his wits to ask the question. He found himself straddled by her, his back pressed against wet grass, his skin tickled by her soft hair as her face was hovering over his like an umbrella against the rain.

"You failed, Potter," she stared deep into his startled eyes, a wicked smile taunting on her lips, "but I believe in second chances."

All the grand strategies to woo her back were buzzing like myriad swarms of bees in his mind, but what escaped his lips was the three little words. "I love you."

Time came to a standstill. Raindrops froze midair. His heart feeling like bursting out of his rib cage to merge with hers, his eyes overflowed with tears, he was entirely shocked by the unequivocal certainty sufficiently paramount to shatter the deep-rooted fear of one cursed with losing anyone he had hold dear. Filling in the void of his soul were pure happiness and faith, which he liberated in an ear-splitting shout that he suspected would arouse all the magical inhabitants in the lake. "I love you, Hermione Granger!"

She was smiling radiantly at him, tears spilling out of her shinny eyes straight into his, sending tender kisses to him in her steadfast gaze, their tears of joy flowing back inside, filling his heart with warmth. After a long while, she sat up, actually casting the impervius charm on him this time, along with the jelly-legs counter-curse, as he could feel her weight real and pleasant on his thighs. He reflexively wound his arms around her waist as she wiped the rain and tears off his face gently.

Her voice soft yet assertive, she confided in him. "It feels like I've been waiting for you all my life, Harry, but I am done waiting around. I want to fight for our love. I see my future so clearly now." She paused briefly, gentle fingers sliding into his raven mop; he saw what she had to say in her warm chocolate eyes before her lips even moved. "It's you, Harry Potter. You and me. Us together…"

"It's our future, Hermione," he corrected her on the spot, his forehead leaning towards hers, inhaling the air she was breathing, and repeated to nail down his certitude, "our future."

Ultimately, she granted him his victory with the kiss that had been simmering on their lips.

It goes without saying that the hero always wins, after all.

(for those who re following "the pursuit of a happy ending", I changed the plot radically, and had pages of plan written, so I hope to be able to finish over Christmas break. As for this short piece, just my way of spending Thanskgivings holiday. I am deeply grateful to you all for loving Harmony and taking your time to read my stories!)


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